


Cinder and Smoke

by checkyourthreadtension



Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: Angst and Feels, Blood, Closets, Highlights for Kids, Juice Boxes, M/M, Phlebotomy, Public Hand Jobs, Waiting Rooms, biohazards
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-20
Updated: 2016-04-20
Packaged: 2018-05-28 22:38:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6348478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/checkyourthreadtension/pseuds/checkyourthreadtension
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Maybe it'd be easier with one of them rather than someone I was—" <i>Absolutely, completely, I'd-forgive-you-for-everything, even-now-I-want-to-touch-you, in love with.</i> "—sleeping with."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cinder and Smoke

**Author's Note:**

  * For [primarycolors92](https://archiveofourown.org/users/primarycolors92/gifts).



> Hello! I know there's already been fics written for this prompt but I'm just bout that action boss! If you're squeamish about blood tests, I recommend reading this in a supine position! And listen to some tunes while you're at it.  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oSarZ7g1F-g

He came to a halt when he entered the waiting room, his jaw dropping slightly with a gasp. That _fucker_. 

How on earth did he know his appointment time? How did he have the sheer audacity to show up here like they were still lovers, hiding behind the cover of Highlights, of all the damn things he could've picked from the rack? What else did he know； did he know how he suddenly felt his heart plunge into his stomach and his eyes well up with tears to see him, how he had been a nervous wreck the day before just at the thought of having to go through this alone for the first time, how every time he'd been there for him and now he wouldn't be ever again but damn it, damn it, he _was_ there and it was absolute bullshit that he was grateful for his presence after all of this mess— "They called me to confirm 'our' appointment, given that I was on record as your current sexual partner and I had to come in for my own appointment anyway."

"And you didn't bother to correct them," Oliver replied tight-lipped, even as his face flushed red. Connor only replied with a small glare, as he went to sign in at the counter, all too aware of the other eyes in the waiting room silently disapproving of the drama. _This wasn't even my fault,_ he wanted to protest, _this is supposed to be my appointment_. The usual receptionist was, as always, fidgeting with her manicure. How in the world did women even type with nails like that? All too quickly it reminded him of something Connor had joked about afterward; _if it meant it slowed your hacking down enough, I'd drag you to get a full set of nails done every week._ "Excuse me. I have a 4 PM appointment? Under Oliver Hampton?"

The receptionist nodded and clacked away at the keyboard, barely even looking at him. "4 PM... 4 PM—oh! The big three-month checkup, huh?" What the hell happened to patient confidentiality? Oliver could virtually sense Connor's mind behind him turning gears, ready to litigate on his behalf, as his head sunk slightly at having his visit broadcasted to the entire room. "Go have a seat, we'll call you both up. Your boyfriend got a checklist of all the tests you'll be going through today, he checked you both in so that you could just go straight in to see Dr. Noble when you got here. But here's another one if you need it. We'll send you the bill to your home after it's been processed with your insurance."

Oliver whirled around, where Connor was practically rimming the spine of Highlights. "Thanks," he replied to the receptionist, shaking with anger as he deliberately sat on the opposite side of the waiting room from Connor. The nerve of him; taking charge of his appointment right from the beginning, charming the scrubs off the receptionist and doing everything for him, as if _he_ was the one dealing with HIV. Just what he needed before a huge three-month checkup, as if it wasn't stressful enough. Great. Still glaring angrily at Connor, he picked up the first magazine his hand grabbed on the table, flipping through it absentmindedly, barely even registering what it was until Connor couldn't hide his snort of laughter anymore. " _What?_ "

"' _Fun and Flirty Cocktail Dresses for Summer'_?" Connor had to bite his lip. "' _Talking Botox With Kris Jenner'_?"

Oliver finally glanced down at the cover. _Cosmopolitan._ Jesus. His face burned even more red as he tossed it back on the table and fished for something else. "At least _I_ haven't sunk so low as to get remedial lessons in being a decent person from Goofus and Gallant," he muttered.

"I'm reading the Timbertoes, _thank you_ ," Connor whipped the magazine around to prove his point and Oliver rolled his eyes. Like his own point was any less accurate. 

"Maybe you ought to flip through it and see if there's any advice in there about letting grown adults handle their own responsibilities. I don't need you or anyone else holding my hand for me." Well, maybe not, if his tears and nerves last night—and even the moments in the elevator not five minutes earlier—had been any sign. He loathed himself for his fear of going it alone, how pathetic he'd felt to just want the comfort of love at his side like he'd always had when going through this. But at the very least, Connor could've let him handle the receptionist on his own; he could manage _that_ , couldn't he?

Connor snapped the Highlights shut, about to snipe back, until the speaker called out their names. _Oliver Hampton and Connor Walsh to Phlebotomy, Room 527, Fifth Floor._

At least it cooled their tempers slightly to put on a premise of geniality in front of the receptionist and the others, no matter how it had already been shattered by their initial bickering. With a sigh, Oliver dragged himself to the elevator, Connor following along with his hands shoved firmly in his pockets, and impatiently pressed the button to shut the doors once they were both inside.

Connor broke the silence. "We _could_ have been doing this in Stanford. It's not like fucking San Francisco doesn't have any resources for HIV, for god sakes."

"You _should_ be in _jail_ ," Oliver hissed as quietly as he could.

"So should _you_. And yet we're _here,_ " Connor snapped back quietly.

Oliver glared back, dark and furiously. But it didn't erase the point that Connor was perfectly right, they'd both done enormously heinous things in the name of Annalise Keating, and were somehow getting away with it, managing a facade of normalcy. Not as though his hacking could hold a candle to what Connor and the rest had done, but still. He couldn't even think about _that_ right now. "And why are _you_ here? Surely you're not hoping to try and control the narrative of my doctor's appointment." _Like everything else you were controlling in my life._ "Because, and correct me if I'm wrong, _you_ were the one who broke up with me three weeks ago under some imagined pretense of protecting me. And that gives you even less of a right to just come right back into my life like nothing happened and decide things for me like you always do, as if you ever had it before!"

Connor glared back, just as angrily, and Oliver felt a chill go through his body. The same eyes that could have him go weak at the knees with a single glance had the exact same power to make him paralyzed on the spot. God damn it all, how could Connor still have this power over him, how could he still keep falling for it? He was furious, certainly, but more than that it was the guilt that had eaten him alive since the breakup. Guilt, of all things; finally knowing the truth, that Connor had done all of it to protect him from the worst, had done it out of love and devotion, and it had spectacularly backfired for both of them. Neither one of them could heal the scar that had been left that night. "I am here," he pointedly replied, unnervingly calm despite the anger flashing in his eyes, "because you have no one else who would be here for you. And you damn well know it."

Now it was a sudden hot flush of anger again. And as much as he wanted to protest—Connor was, again, _right_. "We'll talk about this later," he avoided it, as the elevator door opened and he walked away as quickly as he could toward the room.

"Ollie—" Connor let slip the nickname; Oliver swung toward him with a glare that made him correct himself. "— _Oliver_. If you don't want me in there, fine. But I'm not going to just let you do this alone, not when I've been with you for every other appointment, not when I know you need the support right now."

"I don't need it from a _murderer_ ," he nearly spat back, trying to slip into the examination room without a fuss as he shut the door behind them.

"Oh. So you'd ask Michaela? Also a murderer," Connor folded his arms and raised an eyebrow. "And Laurel, as per your definition. Oh, and not to mention Wes and Asher, who _actually_ murdered people and also lied to you about it."

"Maybe it'd be easier with one of them rather than someone I was—" _Absolutely, completely, I'd-forgive-you-for-everything, even-now-I-want-to-touch-you, in love with._ "—sleeping with."

That hit him where it hurt. And Oliver immediately felt the guilt again, as the will to argue seemed to completely evaporate from the other man. "... You know that's not what we were," Connor turned away, as diminutive as if he'd suddenly been chopped in half. "We were—domestic."

"'Domestic'?" Oliver had to let out a laugh. That was the best word Connor had come up with for their relationship? He couldn't say love? Or was love only one of those things they said when the world was ending? "You know, we could have been so much more, if you had just—"

Knock-knock. "Mr. Hampton and Mr. Walsh?" The door swung open before Connor had a chance to rebut, and there was Dr. Noble; the sort who managed to look even younger than Connor even with a beard of his own. "Good to see you both again. Hope you've been doing well. Heck of a heat wave we're having, huh?"

He chuckled, missing the awkward tension between his patients as he got his tools ready. "Y-Yeah, sometimes it even feels like the heat follows me inside," Oliver met Connor's eyes as he said it. Connor, for his part, said nothing, and only sat down beside the bed.

"I hear you," the doctor shook his head. "Anyway. I'll just give you a quick checkup first. Mind taking your shirt off?"

He obliged, slowly pulling off his tie and unbuttoning his dress shirt, neatly hanging them on a hanger by the door, and folded up his undershirt neatly to set it aside. Even this small, insignificant task was something Connor had always done for him, and turning back to the bed, it was obvious Connor had been thinking the same, staring quietly at his feet, forcing himself not to peek. Best not to indulge him. "This will only be a few minutes, right?" Oliver asked.

"Well, we'll have Audrey come in for your draws and then you can get dressed again. So not too long, I think," Dr. Noble shrugged, and held up the end of his stethoscope. "Relax. Deep breath."

He couldn't lie. Part of him enjoyed the torture that it caused Connor, who was unable to resist a glance, like an impatient child who couldn't have what he wanted anymore. Connor's eyes lingered everywhere on him, on every curve and muscle, and he'd balled his fists into the ends of his sleeves to be a good boy, not to touch what he wasn't supposed to. Oliver smirked. At least when it came to sex, Connor was entirely predictable. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, as the doctor gently pressed his stethoscope every which-way, scribbling down notes on his clipboard. Each touch of the cold metal against his skin made the hair on his arm prickle, and he knew from experience it was one Connor's biggest turn-ons. For whatever reason.

The doctor chuckled. "I said to relax, Mr. Hampton. Your vitals are gonna be way off." 

Connor raised an amused eyebrow at that, while his eyes flicked down between Oliver's legs. Great, and now the doctor had given away how badly he still wanted it. "Sorry. Guess I'm nervous today," Oliver took a deep sigh and tried to pry his mind out of the gutter. How could he be so distracted? Connor had been here for every other appointment and he'd managed to keep himself under control then. It was just like the last time, wasn't it? Just like the last time he'd been heartbroken and horny, absolutely unable to pry Connor from his mind. How on earth would that make him feel, to know that half the reason Oliver couldn't remember who did this to him was because he could only think of Connor the whole time? "C-Can I have a second?" Oliver quickly nodded to the doctor.

"Something big coming up?" Dr. Noble smiled wryly, pressing his scope below the ribcage. "Breathe deep."

He complied, even as he shook his head. "N-no. Just a lot going on right now. Changed jobs, just-just getting used to it. My new boss is pretty tough." That stung Connor, too.

"Don't put too much stress on yourself. Your body's got enough going on right now, getting used to the meds. Go easy on your liver. No rash, no nausea?"

His question was innocent enough. But what was Oliver going to tell him; that Connor had smashed his new computer in rage after finding out about Stanford, their subsequent shouting match? Connor's full-blown panic attack in their— _his_ apartment after realizing only the horrific truth would have prevented it all and Oliver demanding that truth, Connor shaking and petrified but admitting everything, that it wasn't a drug addiction at all, that he'd covered up one murder and was forced to do it again, that they'd threatened not just Connor's life but _his_ if Connor didn't behave? That the very truth itself had left Oliver the one shaking and pale on the floor, watching as Connor had a complete nervous breakdown and screaming they were done, they _had_ to be done now, for Oliver's sake, and how it had left him vomiting his feelings up into the toilet all damn night that he was irreparably in love with a murderer? Was he going to admit any of that?

"... I ate some bad chicken a few weeks back," he shrugged.

Dr. Noble stared him down. Crap. Should he not have said chicken? "Mr. Hampton, you need to watch your diet. Even with the meds, bacterial infections will still do a number on you if you're not careful."

"Y-yeah, just, y'know, too much cooking oil in the frying pan one night," Oliver nodded quickly, blushing even though the story wasn't true. Connor was looking up at him, knowing exactly what the answer should have been to the doctor's question, almost assuredly mentally kicking himself for putting his ex in this position at all to lie to the doctor. Dr. Noble was still going about his business, raising the stethoscope back up to check Oliver's heartbeat, before scribbling a few notes on his clipboard. "Everything okay?" Oliver felt his throat go dry.

"So far as I can tell with this," he waved the scope before slinging it back around his neck. "I'll get Audrey for your draws and be back with your CD4 count and viral load."

Oliver nodded, a bit too energetically perhaps, while Connor was carefully rolling up his sleeve. _Oh yeah._ As a former half of a serodiscordant couple, Connor had to get tested anyway; he'd nearly forgotten. Dr. Noble shut the door behind him and Oliver turned, slightly confused: "Are you still filling your prescription?"

"Yes."

 _What for?_ the question was on the tip of his tongue—until he suddenly recalled how Connor had tried to get over their first breakup. "Oh god, Connor, don't tell me you're sleeping around without protection?!" Oliver was aghast.

That stung again. "I've been good," was all Connor would reply with. "I've been good."

"Then why would you need to refill a prescription if we aren't together?"

"Because this is what it means to get away with murder," Connor looked him in the eye, exhausted from the lies, and Oliver felt his heart melt into a puddle. "Lying. To everyone. All the time."

"Who on earth would you have to lie to about a prescription for PreP?!" Oliver shook his head. 

Connor was broken. "Everyone," he was shaking. "If they know we broke up, they'll know I told you everything. You know how damn smart Annalise is. And it's my fault you're in this mess, the least I can do is keep—"

"So that means you're here just to _pretend_ we're still together!?" Oliver was mortified. "You—"

"That's _not true_ ," Connor was shaking. "I came here because you—"

The phlebotomist broke their argument, startling both of them back into the present with a knock on the door. "Mr. Hampton and Mr. Walsh?"

"C-Come in," Oliver called out, trying to bring his focus back to the matter at hand, and the nurse rolled in with a cart of syringes and needles that already had Oliver's stomach turning to look at it. _This-this is nothing,_ he reminded himself. Didn't help. Even the thought of anything blood-related made him dizzy, it always had, even before he knew what Connor had done to a dead body. This was the worst part, the part that had him always nervous and hating his diagnosis. The nurse was already motioning to Oliver's arm, and he laid back on the crinkling sheet, holding out his left arm. Connor was watching everything like a hawk, especially the nurse, ready to pounce on the first sign of any malpractice on her part. Oliver knew Connor hated how impersonal this particular phlebotomist was, methodically washing her hands and snapping on gloves. _I hate it when we get draws from freaking Nurse Ratched_ , he'd grumbled about her once, only to for Oliver to admonish him swiftly that she was just doing her job. Though he did have a point. Phlebotomists were usually a little friendlier.

"Hope you're having a good afternoon. Name?" She looked him in the eye. It was one of those medical things they had to do, confirming the patient was conscious and knew who they were.

"Oliver Hampton." He swallowed down his anxiety, as the nurse held up the tubes for the draws for him to see, making sure the names were right. Connor eyed her darkly, as she took hold of his arm, searching for the vein, and then tied the tourniquet.

"Make a fist for me."

Again, he complied, though his heart was pounding and he already felt dizzy as she swabbed the puncture site with alcohol. Oliver took slow, deep breaths, staring as far away from the needle as he could—which meant right into Connor's eyes, a sight that repulsed him and yet had him yearning for comfort at the same time. And without a second of hesitation, Connor gently slid their hands together, locking eyes and fingers together as the needle punctured his skin. _It's okay_ , Connor silently reassured him. _I told you, you wouldn't have to do this alone. This is what I came here for._

"Deep breath. Relax your hand."

His clenched fist felt warm and clammy, his palm exposed to the air again. And Connor kept his eyes locked on him, still silently reassuring him it was alright.

Truth be told, it didn't take that long to have blood drawn, not really. It only seemed like forever, drowning in Connor's gaze, trying to look past the nightmare they were trapped in and only focusing on the man. Three tubes and he was done, though his head was still spinning by the end of it. "Oliver, Oliver Hampton," he preempted the nurse before she asked her question again, still staring right into Connor's eyes, as fierce and protective as he'd ever seen them; and Connor was right, Oliver didn't feel safe with anyone else doing this, especially after that awful first time. Watching the phlebotomist cart away her tools, watching as his own blood was marked brightly, unmistakably as a biohazard, carted away in its own bright red box with a stamp that looked like radiation, and feeling shamed and humiliated to tears again by the stark reminder of it all. Of being tainted. Infected. All because of one stupid mistake. _It doesn't change anything_ , Connor had reassured him then with a comforting embrace—and now, silently, with only the squeeze of his hand. _You're not damaged. You're still you._ And what were those eyes saying to him now? _You're not damaged. Not compared to me. I'm ruined._

After washing her hands and putting on new gloves, it was Connor's turn. "Connor Walsh," he answered her politely, offering his other arm up. Lucky for Connor, he didn't have this kind of trouble with getting light-headed. All he had to do was sit and he was fine. But it was different this time to watch Connor avoid the sight of his blood. He always did during his draws, but Oliver had assumed it was because he simply didn't want to look. But now? Now he could see the flashes of trauma in his thousand-yard stare. The sight of a dead man's blood pouring out onto the floor, the burnt flesh seeping into his clothes and skin. The blood and viscera on his hands, trying to keep Annalise alive no matter how deeply he hated her for the mess of lies they'd been tangled up in. He'd been horrified to hear it all—that murder was the truth of working for Annalise, that no one in the house was free of blood on their hands—and now he too was going to be held hostage by the mere knowledge of it like Connor was, like they all were. _What would you have done?_ Connor had sobbed that night. _Annalise begged me to shoot her and I almost did it when she said she'd throw you in prison. What would you have done?_ It was the worst paradox of his life he never imagined he'd find himself in. How could he both hate and love someone so much at the same time?

"Connor Walsh," he replied again to the phlebotomist's question, wincing as he flexed his arm.

And Oliver could only stare now at the whole picture of who Connor Walsh was, accepting this whole person. Infuriatingly controlling, but legitimately sincere. Accessory to murder, and yet so capable of love he'd been so eager to scorn before. Willing to shoot in cold blood, but it only proved how far he'd go for someone he loved. Handsome and confident adult, and somehow an anxious and scared child all at once. One blood-stained hot mess of a person, the kind he'd always known better than to get involved with—and yet. Here he was, still wanting this twisted mess of a man more than anything he'd ever wanted before.

"Oliver," the nurse was shaking a little box of juice. "You always get lightheaded after your draws, right? This'll help you get some strength back."

He blinked, gratefully taking the juice box, and they both watched as she left. " _I_ didn't get any juice," Connor muttered.

 _I'm pretty sure that's the least of your problems right now,_ Oliver couldn't help but snort to himself. "You take it," Oliver tossed it into Connor's lap, easing himself back up to a sitting position. "I'll be fine. I have to get used to this, anyway. This is the rest of my life." He paused. "... Maybe yours, too."

"Oliver..."

And interrupted by another knock. "Hi there again," Dr. Noble had come back with the results from his last blood test, and Oliver thought his heart was going to explode out of his chest from how hard it beat. _Please let it be okay_ , his throat went dry. All of the things he'd been told in this very room that could hurt a CD4 count were swimming in his mind, but more than anything, the stress and fatigue were haunting him. He could hardly understand how Connor had managed to handle it for months. "Ready for your results?"

Oliver nodded, as Connor looked up at him intensely. Connor instinctively reached out for his hand again and he grabbed it, squeezing tightly even as his palm gave off a cold sweat and his heart beat madly. _It'll be okay,_ Connor's reassured him. _You're fine. The meds are working. It's fine._

"Your CD4 count is 502," the doctor announced. "You were at 331 before we got you on treatment, so that's a good sign. Keep it up."

Connor squeezed his hand reassuringly as Oliver let out a sigh of relief. That was a good number. Over 500 was good. Even if barely. "A-And the viral load?" Just saying it out loud made Oliver's throat go dry. He'd nearly passed out when he'd heard the initial number, a staggering 80,000, and that wasn't even what his peak viral load had likely been upon seroconversion. It haunted him to realize the timeline, that the peak would've been right as Connor showed up in front of his door, breaking down in the hallway. Not that he would've dared sleep with him then, but if Connor had used his razor... 

"Viral load is down to 1,500," Dr. Noble smiled, and Oliver felt his heart soar with relief. "Not undetectable yet, but stick to your meds and you'll get there pretty soon. Right on track to be undetectable by your six-month appointment."

Oliver couldn't help it—he turned to Connor, absolutely relieved, and thought he might even burst into tears at seeing the genuine smile on Connor's face. "Thank you, Doctor," he swallowed down his emotions and turned back to the doctor. "Thank you for everything."

"Well, that's my job," Dr. Noble chuckled, already scribbling down their prescriptions. "And I can only do mine if you promise to keep doing yours so well."

"Of course," Oliver nodded enthusiastically, maybe the first time he'd been able to feel positive in weeks. "I'll let you know if I've got any symptoms that come up."

"And the same for you, Mr. Walsh," Dr. Noble nodded over at Connor, who seemed caught off-guard to be addressed. "It's just as important for you to stay on PreP, whether or not your partner is undetectable or not. I'll give both of you a prescription for three months, that'll line up with your next big appointment."

Oliver was smiling as he put on his shirts, though whether it was for keeping up appearances, he couldn't quite say. Would Connor even be here in three months or would he be in prison? Would _Oliver_ be in prison? It seemed so ridiculous to measure life by incremental HIV appointments and how long it was before anyone found out what they'd been doing. "I'll see you then," he replied confidently. That was the only thing they could do, after all. Smile, nod, pretend. It was all Connor did, anyway, with only a weak glance at his prescription. Dr. Noble opened the door for them, and with congenial smiles, they headed out into the empty hall, Connor shuffling behind with the juice box in his other hand.

The silence was maddening.

"Connor, I know we're..." Oliver didn't want to say it. So he didn't. "... You know. But thank you for being here."

Connor shook his head. The spirit had practically left him. "I had no right to be here. I should be thanking you for letting me stay."

"You didn't have any right to be here, no," Oliver was still mad about it, but in the long run, this was nothing compared to the looming issues. And it had been an immense relief to have Connor there, Connor was the only one who _knew_. "Just—talk to me first before you do these stupid things."

Connor nodded and turned to head out. The prescription fluttered from his hand and fell to the ground. "... I'll see you around, I guess." 

_No, Connor, you don't get to run away from this,_ Oliver felt his anger bloom again, as he picked up the prescription, nearly crushing it in his hand before shoving it into his satchel. "And where would I be seeing you? One of the gay bars downtown, seducing someone else and trying to screw your problems away? Connor, we _need_ to _talk_ ," He stopped in the middle of the hall, and Connor turned back glumly to face him. His heart was pounding madly, he couldn't stand it. God, he was furious, but Connor was still the love of his life, he still _cared_ , damn it. _We need to talk. The one thing we never—_ With a couple of glances side to side to make sure no one was around, Oliver reached out and pulled Connor over toward him, quickly throwing them both into a supply closet and locking the door behind them.

He thrust Connor up against the wall, but there was hardly any fury in his eyes. Nothing but the same tired, helpless and scared look after he'd ended up at 303 after an overd—no, after he'd gone and chopped up a body and burnt it, after he'd nearly shot someone. It was infuriating to Oliver, almost, that Connor had _let_ himself crash so hard, enough to believe he was beyond saving, that he was a ruin to everyone in his life. " _Are_ we talking?" Connor looked up, only searching for answers he didn't have. "What more is there to talk about? Seriously?"

"Maybe the fact that I—I _love_ you," Oliver felt his hands tighten around Connor, even as Connor looked like he was about to have a panic attack at hearing the words. "And that you love me. And—god, Connor, if you had just told me about what was going on from the start I would've—"

"No," Connor was shaking his head. "No, no no no, this is protecting you. The more I love you, the more I _ruin_ you, I'm bad for you, that's the truth, I s-shouldn't have ever come back to you, I-I—"

Oliver gaped in shock for a moment. "Connor—are you kidding me? I _wanted_ it all. It's just as much my fault as it is yours. I didn't want to be managing servers and troubleshooting printers for the rest of my life. I hate the fact that I know what 'PC Load Letter' means," his hands clenched at the fabric of Connor's shirt and looked him dead in the eyes, his frightened and hollowed eyes. "I wanted to _live_ life, not spend every single day regretting things I never did, all the hours I wasted studying things that got me stuck hating who I was. I didn't want to be the dork anymore who no one ever looked at. I wanted friends, and you gave me all of that. I mean, I-I didn't know about what really went on, no, but—but I'm still in _love_ with you! Doesn't that mean anything?!"

"Oliver," Connor could barely make a sound, as if it were a death knell. _You haven't ruined me,_ Oliver would have shaken him silly if it would have made the point clear. _You made me everything I ever wanted to be, don't you get it?_ "You have to get out of this mess. You have to get out of here. We'd be going to prison for the things we've done. You were the only one who treated me like something more than a body and a face, and I-I ruined our life together before i-it even started, the least I can do for you is keep you out of this mess. You got HIV because of me, you're doing these illegal things, you're completely addicted to hacking, oh god; O-Oliver, what if Annalise a-asked you to—to shoot someone, or—"

 _No._ Oliver shut him up with a kiss, and Connor barely reciprocated. "Just let me ask one thing," Oliver broke away, as Connor had his eyes closed, forcing himself not to keen his neck for more. "You were the one who said we had to break up. And yet, after all you said, all you admitted to, _you came here_. You're still on your prescription. You said you didn't want me to do this alone. So let me ask: do you still want 'us'?"

Silence.

"Because _I_ do."

_"Yes."_

All it took was one word.

One single word meant he still had the strength to stand up on his two feet. That he still believed he had a chance to look people in the eye, that he could still deserve the man before him, despite everything that had happened. God, Connor was broken to pieces, yes, but he could be beautiful again, all it took was courage to face the fire. "I want us like I've wanted nothing else before," Connor started to breathe again, a bit of color starting to come back to his face. Even the spark of thrill was in his eyes again and Oliver felt his cock twitch at what that look meant, as Connor grabbed Oliver's shirt and slowly pulled him in. "Oliver, you're the only one I ever—"

Connor didn't even bother to finish his sentence, as he looked him right in the eye, and instead simply pulled him in hard for another kiss.

_Holy shit._

It was too good, too familiar. Connor was warmth and love and everything he'd missed, his mouth practically begging for Oliver to take him back right here in this damn closet. And even though his mind had started to plead with him that again, yet again, this was a bad idea, _sex won't fix us_ , Oliver was ready for it, already ripping Connor's shirt off, just like Connor had done to him their first night together so long ago—and even excited enough to rip his black undershirt in half to expose his bare chest to the stale air in the closet. He paused for just a moment to let the sight sink in. Connor had very obviously been back to his morning runs since their breakup, and the sight of his toned body had his mouth already watering. _You shouldn't, you shouldn't do this,_ Oliver's mind had him hesitating, _You're supposed to be talking_ —but as always, as painfully always, Connor was irresistible to him, an addiction as much as the hacking and the thrill of being caught were, no use denying it. He dove right against him, pressing him up to the wall of the closet, kissing his damn mouth shut to cover his moans.

"Ollie," Connor was gasping desperately, gladly offering his body; the only way, it seemed, he ever knew how to make up for anything. "Oh god—Ollie—"

 _Only because I need this too,_ Oliver reproached himself, even as he lifted Connor up so that he could suck at the skin of his chest, eagerly torturing a nipple. Connor threw his head back, bucking up against him, quickly biting down on his own wrist to muffle his cries. _If there's one thing I've learned from this_ , he quickly wriggled out of his own shirts, _bad ideas are good for me_. 

So much for talking. But even this didn't quite seem to be like all the other times, when desire and release was the only thing on their minds. "I can't lose you," Connor was whispering, thrusting up against Oliver. "I can't, I can't."

"Connor..." He sighed as Connor's whisper tickled his ear. 

"She won't get us," Connor's hands slid up Oliver's back, around his shoulders, and he let out a moan as he thrust hard against Oliver. And Oliver thrust right back against him, his own arms sliding down Connor's back and down to his ass. "I won't—let her. I know she knows every damn trick in the book, but she—she taught us every last one. I won't let her trap us."

"T-Talk to me," Oliver let his head fall back, as Connor nuzzled against his neck, his breath hot against his pulse. "Connor..."

"Ollie," Connor lifted his head to look Oliver in the eye, and stopped thrusting—simply asking, now, instead, with his eyes. "Can you trust me? After all the blood on my hands, after all I did to you, can you trust me—just once—to save us both?"

Oliver glared at him. _You idiot._ "We're in this together," he stared back. "We're both involved. I'll trust you, if you let me help. You need my help, I know you do."

Connor didn't hesitate, even though his hands were shaking with the pressure and fear. "I—I have to tell you everything, e-everything we did those nights—" He was shaking again, afraid to look Oliver in the eye. "I d-did awful things."

"I know," Oliver felt a rush of anger and pity inside him, though where he was supposed to direct it now, he had no idea. Already he couldn't look at Connor the same as he did before, but at least now it was real. However bloody and terrifying the truth was, it was _real_ , and this was finally Connor swearing to honesty. _This is the most twisted vow of fidelity there's ever been._ "I'll be honest too. No more—no more things like Stanford."

"Ollie..." Connor's breath of fear left him—and he laughed, a palpable laugh of relief that had Oliver wondering if anyone was going to wrench open the closet door. But once Connor had gotten a hold of himself, his hands were already working their way up Oliver's back, growing ever more sure of himself. Oliver ground against him, meeting the sudden, dangerous look in Connor's eyes; a man back in his element. A man who could make him do anything. _I want us_.

"You ripped my shirts apart," Connor panted, amused—and a second later, spun them around, with Oliver now pressed against the wall, and dove right at his neck, sucking at his throat and grinding against him. Connor's hands were sliding under the waistband of his underwear, his palms greedy for soft skin, pulling Oliver right against himself to show just how badly he wanted him. And Oliver wanted him just as badly, he knew Connor could feel it beneath both their clothes. Oliver pulled him in close for another heavy kiss, only needing the feel of Connor's heartbeat against his own. He didn't need anything more, really, just to have him again was enough. But his body was soon screaming for more, as they ground against each other, harder and faster. Oliver quickly reached down to unbuckle their belts, to slide their clothes down and just _feel_ each other, both cocks heavy against the other. Connor let slip a thoroughly indecent moan at the feel of it— _I hope the nurses didn't hear that_ , Oliver glanced at the door—and reached between them to grab them both, slowly working his hand up and down.

Barely a second later, Oliver slid his own hand to join Connor's, both of them building up a rhythm together. A part of him greedily wanted more: god, he ached for Connor's tongue inside him, he wanted to be blinded by the pleasure and totally at its mercy. But this somehow felt even more intimate, building to climax together. Feeling even the slightest twitch of Connor's cock against his own had him shivering, and Oliver pulled Connor up for another kiss. _I'll do whatever it takes to keep you safe_ , Oliver tried to say it with his touch. _I don't want to lose what we have._.

No, this was definitely not the old Oliver Hampton. Not the Oliver who always played by the rules, who'd played it painstakingly safe and loathed where he'd ended up in life. Not the same Oliver who'd diligently studied every weekend and stayed out of trouble, only to realize a permanent record was bullshit after high school. Not the same man who hid in the bars, too bashful to try and approach another man. _This is exactly what I wanted_ , Oliver tried to convey it in his kiss, as their cocks twitched together and their hands sped up. _I want to live my life. Even if that means I'm in love with a murderer._

"O-Ollie—" Connor gasped, pressing right up against him as his orgasm hit, spilling over both of them. Oliver was just as close, and quickly covered the head of his cock to keep his own come away, though it was a slim chance he would infect Connor regardless. But it barely mattered, compared to the feel of Connor's body against his own, his skin moist with light sweat and—more importantly—no trace of the anxiety that had plagued him earlier. Connor took a slow breath before lifting himself up slightly to look up at Oliver, with his eyes resolute. "You trust me?"

Oliver nodded. "What do we have to do?"

"Break the law way worse than we've ever done before."

It stilled him for a minute. Knowing what Connor had done before, words like that made his heart stop. Every bone in his body was telling him to get out before it was too late—but he'd already made up his mind. "I trust you," Oliver nodded. "Just keep talking to me. No more secrets between us. Or-or else you're on your own, for real."

"No more secrets," Connor breathed back, looking as sure and confident as he had that very first night with a Maker's Manhattan. Who could be mad at that?


End file.
